


Clouds

by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A lot of feels, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Christmas Fluff, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Feels, First Meetings, Kate Argent Angst, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf/pseuds/howl-to-the-wind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How can you just stop trying to be happy?” Stiles asks. His voice isn’t tinged with judgment or scorn, just curiosity. “If you stop being happy, that means life wins.”</p><p>“It’s a lot easier to be sad about life, I guess,” Derek says softly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> The fic’s title, Clouds, is the title of Joni Mitchell’s 1969 album on which the song [“Both Sides, Now”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCnf46boC3I) first appeared, the song that originally inspired this piece.

Derek is seated on his favorite park bench, head tilted back and looking up at the skies. The white clouds floating lazily above his head makes him smile, just a little. If he reaches up, it’s like he can almost touch them, feel their cotton candy-soft tips against his fingers. But he knows clouds aren’t tangible, just a mass of particles in the air, and he wonders when people first realize fluffy clouds are a myth. He thinks life will be simpler if people don’t know some of the things they know now.

He looks down just in time to see someone smiling and waving at him from across the park. He waves back and waits, lets her come to him, and after a while, she reaches him. She sits down beside him, a pretty smile on a pretty face.

“What are you thinking about, loser?” Laura jokes, elbowing him.

Derek shrugs, and looks back up at the sky, wonders when he first realized that raining doesn’t mean angels are crying or that clouds are leaking, or that tying your wishes to balloons and letting them fly doesn’t mean they will come true.

“Derek?”

Derek closes his eyes. “It’s nothing.” He stands up. “Come on.”

Laura wraps an arm around his and he can smell her worry, tries to smile. She just smiles back and talks on about their plans for Christmas, just the two of them, makes no mention of what other event will be celebrated on that day, how many people won’t be there to celebrate with them.

Derek lends her an ear, nodding along at the right parts, hums in acknowledgement when he needs to, but they both know he’s not really listening.

Derek wonders when he stopped believing in ice cream castles in the air and angels and love and… and happiness.

They pass by a store spouting out Christmas carols. Derek fights not to wince.

Merry fucking Christmas.

 

Stiles nods, and nods again, showing his Dad and Jordan that yes, he understands and yes, he’ll take a break and stop working too much. He’s been working six days a week from seven until six at the Sheriff’s office since mid-November, and although his Dad, Jordan and the deputies appreciate his hard work, they don’t want him cooped up in the office all the time.

Never mind that his Dad understands the real reason Stiles is being such a Grinch and is still insistent he goes out.

His Dad and Jordan look at him with kind eyes and Stiles sighs and asks, “Can I take the rest of the day off?” if only to appease them. His Dad nods and half an hour later he’s at his usual park bench, eyes to the darkening sky. Nighttime is approaching and he doesn’t feel like going back to an empty apartment where no one waits for him.

He can just as easily go back to his house though, his house with his Dad, but Melissa lives there now. And it isn’t like Stiles doesn’t like his apartment, because he does. He just doesn’t like being alone during Christmas, but he loves his Dad too much to push his way in between his first Christmas with his new wife.

Stiles watches the little kids having one last round at the playground, one last roll around the snow, one last snowball fight, before they all ran into the arms of their loving mothers. Suddenly, he’s never felt so alone.

But Stiles is nothing if not hopeful, or resilient, or stubborn. He feels the keys to the Jeep heavy in his pocket, tugs his beanie down and wraps his scarf tighter around his neck. He stands up, ready to find someone to hang out with, ready to temporarily forget that this was her favorite holiday.

Merry fucking Christmas.

 

Derek looks at the happy people around the amusement park, full of smiles and laughter. He walks past booths where lovers try to win teddy bears, past rides that make passengers scream, past vendors selling balloons and candies, and reaches the towering Ferris wheel

He wonders when is the last time he had fun, wonders how he lost the kid within, no inhibitions, no fears, free from all the confusion adult life brings.

Oh, yeah. It all happened when a bitch, or two, or three, burned and clawed it out of him.

In a few moments, he’s boarding a gondola and waiting for his ride to the top. He doesn’t mind the looks he get as people wonder why he’s alone. He opens the window of the gondola, lets the cool winter breeze waft at his face, and he looks down and watches people disappear slowly into colored dots.

He closes his eyes, lets his mind wander. When you grow up, you find out so many useless and unimportant things and you forget the better things in life; days when you don’t have to look too hard because you can find good in everything in the world, when saying sorry is enough to be forgiven, when you still believe that fairy tales are real and everything ends with ‘happily ever after’.

Derek wonders if he will ever have a ‘happily ever after’.

Ha-ha, what bullshit.

 

Scott notices something off, that his demeanor changed, and Stiles is relieved when he doesn’t pry, just smiles and laughs and pretends he doesn’t see the cracks that appear and broken pieces that chip off during this time of the year. And for that Stiles smiles, tries to have fun, says he’s just tired when he finally can’t take it and darts outside to the porch. He rubs his palms together to warm them up, wraps his arms around himself and looks up at the stars.

A soft breeze sweeps across his face and through his hair, and he watches the dark sky, the pinpricks of stars, and the crescent moon. His vision gets blurry and he sighs as the image blurs, wipes hasty tears and look up at the sky again.

He has never seen a falling star before, except maybe himself. That doesn’t mean to say he is anything like a star. He isn’t beautiful, pure, or shining with so much promise. He’s just a random person in the crowd, in the world, with no direction, having fallen so many times.

But you know, falling stars aren’t really stars. They’re rocks that burn, and no one ever says rocks are beautiful. He wonders at the irony of it all, how seeing something fall is considered beautiful.

He laughs, wipes away more tears.

He won’t stop trying, won’t stop looking, but he wonders if someday, someone, anyone in the world will see how he’s not a star but just a measly rock and still learn to love him despite that.

Ha-ha, what bullshit.

 

Derek wonders just how much value the word ‘love’ has. He thinks that using the word ‘love’ must only mean to really and truly love with your heart and soul, nothing more and nothing less, and wonders what it will be like if people can’t use the word love unless they really mean it and thinks the world will have less liars if that was the case.

“I love you, Derek.”

Laura’s smiling face makes him melt and he wonders how a man like him can be so lucky. He smiles, not hesitating to say, “I love you too, Loo,” kissing the top of her head, loving her soft huff of laughter. He’s sure he isn’t lying this time, because this love is real.

He stands up, walks away to seek solace at the balcony.

Derek’s fallen in love many times before. At the time, he was so sure his feelings were real, not knowing he was just being blind. He vaguely remembers his mother and his father, vaguely remembers how they smile at one another, how they touch and kiss, and he stops thinking about them with a jolt. A snarl is making its way out of his throat and his eyes are burning with more than just his flashing blue eyes.

He wonders at that type of love where you feel complete and he wonders if it will ever happen to him, wonders if he should even wish for it, decides not to even hope. After all, such silly notions were what took away his family and his life.

He wonders if love is picky.

He wonders if he’s just not meant for it.

Probably not.

 

Stiles is curled up in bed, looks at endless pictures that showed off love and happiness and unfulfilled promises. He looked at each smile, each laugh, each touch, could practically hear his heart ripping open again, but he still looks. He looks at each one, looks at her smile, bright and young and alive. He takes them all in and he wonders when he’ll stop feeling like there was a gaping hole in his chest.

Someone once told him that one way to heal is to find more things to love, that putting yourself out there is one way of keeping your feelings alive, that loving more is a way of helping yourself remember what it’s like to love them, to love her. Because there is a reason things happen the way they do and she will not be happy if he chose to give up.

So he just gives and just gives, but it gets so tiring having to piece together his broken heart again and again and again when he smells her perfume on someone else, sees the shade of her hair in the crowd, hears her voice in the silence of the night, sees her in his eyes, his face, his lips whenever he looks at the mirror…

Sometimes he wonders how he can still recognize the fragments when they’re shattered beyond belief. But he tries, and with shaking fingers lines up the pieces until he creates something that resembles his heart, but he doesn’t mind, because hopefully, one day, someone will come and still love him despite the cracks.

Still, he wishes whoever that someone is will come soon, because he’s at the point where he doesn’t need water to feel like he’s drowning, where smiling can hardly hide how he’s on the brink of tears, and simply because loving and losing and having his spirit shatter so many, many times is too tiring, too painful.

He puts the photographs in a box, sighs and closes his eyes.

He wonders if love is picky.

He wonders if he’s just not meant for it.

Probably not.

 

They meet at the park three days before Christmas, breaths forming clouds, lips chapped and stinging, and fingers numb.

Stiles is seated on his usual park bench, head lolling back, eyes to the dark sky. The snow nips at his skin and he shivers, bundling up tightly. The sound of footsteps sloshing through ankle-deep snow makes him look down, only to see a man staring at him.

Derek looks at the stranger seated on his usual bench. For a moment, he contemplates walking on but the stranger doesn’t look dangerous and the bench is big enough. “May I?” he asks, waving to the bench.

Stiles scoots over, thinking it couldn’t hurt to let the man sit down.

They lapse into silence. The park bench gives them a good view of the snow-laden square where kids run around and have fun. Suddenly, a boy trips and lands face-first on the cold snow.

“Ouch.”

They look at each other, surprised to have said the same thing. Derek grins, Stiles chuckles, and they both wince when the little boy starts crying.

“That must have really hurt,” Stiles said softly.

“At least all he has to do is clean it and stick a band-aid on it and then he’ll be all better.”

Stiles stares at Derek, surprised by his words, and he frowns.

Derek notices the expression, shakes his head. “When you’re a kid, nothing hurts that much because everything is always going to turn out ok. I envy that.”

Stiles turns quiet, mulls over the other’s words. He nods slowly.

That’s true. But at the same time, it’s not.

“But when you’re a kid, one day you’re going to have to grow up.”

Derek’s voice is low. “Growing up hurts more than all the skinned knees and bloody elbows in the world. If I had a choice I’d rather not grow up.”

Stiles laughs gently. “That’s very Peter Pan of you.”

Derek lets a smirk form on his face, allows a chuckle to slip past his lips.

They wonder why they feel comfortable with a total stranger, but they let it slide.

They talk about the cold weather, talk about their interests and jobs, their family or lack thereof, talk about loss and searching, about a fire that burned inside and out and the smell of disinfectant and the haunting beep of machines. They talk about rain and clouds, about angels, about falling stars, and happily ever after. They laugh and argue lightly and laugh some more.

And they reach a point where Stiles freely calls Derek out on being a disappointment by letting his life waste away, and Derek says he feels Stiles’ mother wouldn’t have wanted him to act like some heartsick maiden over her.

And they stop and stare at each other. They don’t apologize, not when they know deep inside the other is right.

“How can you just stop trying to be happy?” Stiles asks. His voice isn’t tinged with judgment or scorn, just curiosity.

Derek falls silent, that same question is one that he’s been asking himself for so long.

“If you stop being happy, that means life wins,” Stiles says softly. “I…” He licks his lips. “Getting my heart pummeled sucks, but I don’t like losing.” He looks at Derek, a question in his eyes. Derek doesn’t know what exactly he’s being asked.

“It’s a lot easier to be sad about life, I guess,” Derek says softly.

Stiles opens his mouth, as if to ask more and when he presses his lips closed, Derek almost wishes he asks him something.

The shrill ring of a cellphone interrupts the silence that envelops them. Derek pulls it out and tells Laura he’ll be home soon.

“I gotta go,” Derek says, hanging up. For a moment, he thinks he sees disappoint on the male’s face, but he blinks and it’s gone.

“Oh, ok then. Take care.”

He nods at him and walks off.

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside.

Derek runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t like this.

If you stop being happy, that means life wins.

It’s something Laura has always told him, that being happy is a choice you make every day.

Derek is tired of being unhappy. He’s tired of losing.

What better day to start than Christmas, right?

He looks back.

It won’t hurt to ask, he decides, rubbing his hands together. He licks his lips. “Hey, uhm, are you busy tomorrow? We can go out for coffee or maybe have lunch?”

The other nods happily. “I’d like that. I’m Stiles, by the way.” He smiles, and Derek knows he did the right thing.

“I’m Derek. So, I guess I’ll see you hear at noon.” Derek smiles back and is surprised at how easy it is to.

Stiles nods. “Noon. Yeah.”

Derek makes  to turn away.

"Hey, Derek!"

Derek looks back. Stiles is smiling. He looks beautiful.

"Merry Christmas."

Derek can't stop the smile that appeared on his face at that. He walks away, looks back once to wave at Stiles one last time before disappearing around the bend.

Merry Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a piece I originally wrote for a school project several years back and it still remains to be one of my most favorite pieces ever. It has since been adapted several times into different fandoms and this would be its third version. I’ve since deleted the other iterations of these, but if it’s familiar, rest assured it wasn’t copied or stolen. It’s still mine.
> 
> It’s just really very important for me to put a Sterek spin on this piece.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Hit me up on tumblr at [howl-to-the-wind](http://howl-to-the-wind.tumblr.com).
> 
> Happy holidays.


End file.
